una visita dovuta al cimitero maggiore di Milano....
Monday, February 14, 2011
Blisters On Gums And Jaw Hurts
L’anziana signora savonese, costretta sulla sedia a rotelle, che mi sta davanti, ha un’aria decisamente sofferente, mi parla con frasi toccanti e intervallando parola per parola, in una modesta abitazione . Questa povera donna inferma e vedova, è una madre, ultranovantenne e mi ha fatto chiamare al telefono da una vicina who asked me to go and ask for a courtesy visit. is the summary of the interview: his son just sixteen, against the wishes of the parents, 43 animated by an ideal, he enlisted in the armed forces of the Italian Social Republic, the lady is not able to specify how and in what body area, only that the boy went to Germany to make military training, he received the cards and revise it in uniform before being allocated to his department and that's it, nelluna other news.
In April 1945, when there is the collapse of the Republican Regime, the young volunteer is taken by the partisans in Valtellina, and lives the terrible and desperate moments of the income rationem, assists the arrest of Mussolini and Petacci, as well as the various hierarchs on the run, including the boy's no good. 
died against a wall, shot by firing squad partisan, without even a shred of the process, its body will be found in a ravine in Lombardy, and then buried in Milan, at the Cemetery, said Musocco. Some, mercifully, warns her mother's tragic death, fate of many young people who have made an uncomfortable choice. 
The woman for several years he went to London to bring a flower on the grave of the boy, as long as the health claims. Now, unfortunately, because of the life that is escaping from the body of the poor, for some years the grave of the late son, does not receive regular visits and even have the consolation of a flower. The poor lady has read some of my articles in a newspaper of Genoa, on the losing side, call your neighbor and I am calling to ask me to go in his place, to pray at the tomb of her son, she is immobilized and feels the need to appoint a trusted person a visit to the grave.
agree to willingly take the train to Milan, I go down to Central Station, subway green line, Lanza stop, then tram 14 and I'm at the cemetery Maggiore.
The entrance of the cemetery is huge, Gothic, and by him through a long avenue, this cemetery covers about 60 000 m square, the sides of the main avenue other branch roads connecting the various fields on the right I see a group of crosses, dark, arranged in an orderly manner, the perimeter is bordered by a thin ribbon flag. A light mist, floating a short distance from the ground, crosses emerge from the fog, creating a surreal effect.
reach the field, you only hear the sound of my footsteps on the gravel, coming to a marble plaque on which metal is engraved in letters of Block 10, topped by a small cross.
I remain impressed, the field is huge, hundreds of crosses massive gray granite, blackened by years militarily deployed one after another in orderly rows come un disciplinato esercito di fantasmi nel cortile di una caserma. Ogni croce riporta un nome e una data, soltanto quella della morte, più in basso appare un piccolo ovale con una foto smaltata in bianco e nero, più sotto un numero progressivo. Le croci sono spesse, danno una idea di solidità,sulla sommità c’è legato un nastrino tricolore, il prato erboso antistante è abbellito, sobriamente da alcuni fiori. Cammino sui vialetti, in silenzio, osservo un’altare di pietra con delle corone di alloro e dietro svetta una croce, sulla cui base una scritta , ai caduti della rsi, 1943 – 1945. Una scritta su di una targa di ottone richiama la mia attenzione e mi stringe il cuore :
“Cittadino steps and that you do not know, light a candle for all these heroes, for this youth who has not betrayed, for these young people who did not give up ever, all these unknown slaughtered, abandoned on the streets of Milan, for all those missing ( and thousands are) thrown into the depths of our lakes. " In the silence of the field, these words weigh like stones and lead me to quickly search for the grave of poor young man.
not hard to find the tomb, on the cross because I recognize the name and dat hypothetical death that gave me the mother, the photo shows a smiling face of a boy, blacks imbrillantinati hair, a beret askew, defiant air, two military insignia ... a thought crosses my la mente, chissà che cosa deve aver subito prima di essere fucilato, poso un fiore e mi soffermo davanti alla croce, ma non riesco a raccogliermi in preghiera, il mio sguardo corre lungo altre lapidi, numerose, su cui campeggia una scritta: IGNOTO.
Forse i corpi dei caduti erano talmente messi male da essere irriconoscibili ed allora è stato gioco forza definirli Ignoti. Proseguo per i vialetti e mi avvio verso l’uscita del campo, che apprendo sia denominato “Campo dell’Onore” mentre il campo dove sono sepolti i partigiani è chiamato “Campo della Gloria” chissà perché anche nella morte esiste una differenziazione tra le due Italie?
Cimitero ricco di storia questo, in 16, a few hundred meters, there was in May 45, an unmarked grave with no name. It was discovered that there was Mussolini's body, dozens of people, in a fit of hatred, went daily, to soil with excrement the grave as a last Sgarra. Three people at night, they entered the cemetery and steal the body that was hidden in a monastery in Pavia, away from other heinous offenses in 56 and was returned to his widow Rachel, who buried it in Predappio.
I leave the cemetery to go to the station, I had my pitiful job, but are a little more sad for what I've seen hundreds of crosses to remind men, boys, women beaten for a single reason: making a choice .
roberto nicolick
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment